Play the Part of the Martyr and Get Yourself Typecast
by Draikinator
Summary: She's supposed to be doing better.


She tugs at the thick, heavy cloth of her cowl, frustrated. It's never been her favourite material, but she didn't choose it, and it's important to wear it despite how obnoxious it is. How the hood never quite holds her hair all the way in, how the mask will crawl up her face in the rain or how her fingers aren't long enough to fill the dirty green work gloves.

She thinks the costume is ridiculous, outrageous, but it's familiar, it's comforting, and even after ten years, she still imagines she can smell him in the seams of it, lingering on, unforgotten.

She tugs her face out of the fabric and leans heavily against the humming air conditioning unit, legs dangling over the building's edge. She's not worried, she won't fall, and even though if she did, it wouldn't matter.

Mysterion knows she will just come back the next day.

She's torn from her thoughts, suddenly, by the blaring of police sirens. The only squadcar in town, peeling out in the dim twilight. She stands, brushing off the seat of her lilac pants, before grabbing the piping she'd scaled to get this high and holding it as a lifeline as she drops her way down to the ground, mushy earth cushioning the last few feet beneath her steel toed boots, far too small these days and in dire need of replacement.

She swings her leg over her bike and peels out after the squad car.

* * *

It's nothing. Some kids spraypainting graffiti out behind the middleschool. They're gone by the time she and Officer Stevens get there. She knows she's in trouble, though, when the policewoman notices her in the review mirror, lingering by the treeline on her bike.

Mysterion considers running- she knows she's fast enough, but there's no reason to. Kevin will find out no matter what she does.

"Karen?" She asks, shining her flashlight in her direction, and Mysterion shrinks from the light, squinting, "Is that you? Please tell me you're not wearing that- and, you are. Karen, sweetie."

Mysterion leans against her handlebars, trying to appear casual, "Good evening, Officer Stevens. Any trouble tonight?"

Officer Stevens shakes her head, and Mysterion envies her hair. She remembers when Officer Stevens had long, curly, blond hair and how she had cut it short when she took her new job- she thinks about her brown hair tied back and pinned a dozen times against her skull, bangs still in her eyes and wishes she was brave enough to do that.

"Karen, I thought we talked about this? About leaving police stuff to the police? About you going back to school?"

"School isn't important," Mysterion says, "Being a hero is important. My brother died for a _reason_. His sacrifice needs to mean something."

Officer Stevens gives her the same sad, broken look she always gives her, "Kev said you were off that. He said you were doing better."

"I am doing better," Mysterion says, and waves at the bike, "I work part time at the coffee shop. I bought this myself."

"He said you'd stopped talking about Kenan."

Mysterion growls and lowers her face into her cowl, fingers going white knuckled against the ribbed handlebars, "His name was _Kenny_."

Officer Stevens nods, somberly, tiredly, eyes closed, "Right, right. Kenny. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Kenny."

"He was real," she says, bristling, "He was real even if you don't remember him. He was real, and my brother, and he left me his powers."

Officer Stevens bristles, "Powers? Oh, no, Karen, baby, please don't tell me you think you're immortal again. Please, _please_ don't tell me that, you know how I worry."

Mysterion feels bad. Protecting citizens is her job- Officer Stevens may be a police officer, but that includes her, too. She doesn't want her to feel bad. She doesn't want her to be distracted from her job worrying, either.

"No," she lies, "I'm just playing the game. You know."

Officer Stevens looks relieved, "Good. I talked to Craig yesterday and he said he was worried about you. Even asked me to keep an eye out, you know?"

"He's not supposed to talk to you about me," Mysterion says under her breath, averting her eyes, "Patient confidentiality."

Officer Stevens grimaces, "How many laws have I let you break, kiddo? We talk about you because we love you, and we worry. We don't want you having another breakdown. And we don't want you putting yourself in danger because you think you're immortal."

"I'm fine…" She sighs, "I'm always fine! It's not a big deal! And I promised I would try to prove it again, didn't I?"

"You did. And you're very good about keeping your promises. I thought you were going to throw this costume away?" She asks, kneeling down to pick up the end of the cape out of the mud. Mysterion shifts back and pulls away.

"I didn't promise that. I said _maybe_."

Officer Stevens looks sad again as she stands, "Come on, then, put your bike on the rack and hop in the back, I'll give you a ride home."

"Can't I ride along and help you fight crime?" Mysterion says hopefully, "I promise I won't tell Kev. And I bet it would be good for me!" She says this hastily, because Officer Steven looks unimpressed, "Me following the rules and all. Maybe I'll be a police lady one day, too."

Officer Stevens looks doubtful but she nods, "Maybe someday. But not tonight. Kev is probably worried sick about you."

"I bet he hasn't even noticed I snuck out…" She whispers, locking her bike onto the bikerack at the back of the squadcar.

* * *

Kevin had definitely noticed she had snuck out, because he's standing outside the mobile home wringing his hands and pacing, and he runs toward them when Officer Stevens pulls into the driveway. She gets out and talks to him while Mysterion waits in the backseat, and she feels a little bad when Kevin rests his head on her shoulder and gives a little shaking sob.

When Officer Stevens opens the door, she doesn't look him in the eye. She stomps heavily, hoping he'll think she's angry at being caught instead of terrified of how upset he is, and Officer Stevens pulls away as she wheels her bike to the railing to chain it up. Kevin follows her, silently.

"Kar?" He says, quietly, hesitantly.

"Mm?" She says, looking at the lock and her shaking hands instead of him.

"I thought… I thought we weren't going to do this anymore."

"_We're_ not doing anything," she said, "I'm making a difference. I don't expect you to understand. It's what he would have wanted."

Kevin takes her by the shoulders and turns her around, and looks her dead in the eye and she can't look away, can't even blink.

"Karen. Karen McCormick. Do you remember, ten years ago, when Ma died?"

"When Dad left," she whispers and he nods, swallowing.

"I know things were hard then. I know things were hard and I know it's my fault, I know I should have been- more. I know I should have been there for you. Made them put us in the same home-" his voice is shaking, "and I'm _sorry_ for that. I'm sorry I can't afford the kind of doctors you need, I am, I just-"

He wipes his eyes on his jacket and Mysterion feels her heart pinch, "I'm so-" she starts to say.

"This _needs_ to stop," Kevin says, looking up, "We never had another brother. There is no Kenny. He didn't leave you powers or a costume. He wasn't- wasn't your guardian angel, Kar. I'm sorry. I should have been and- and I wasn't, and no one was, and maybe you made him up because you deserved a brother who wasn't so self absorbed he abandoned his sister to the system so he could fill himself with crack and pretend he had a family to go home to but I- I-" he can't keep going, and he crushes her against his chest, sobbing.

She reaches her arms around his back to hold him back, hesitant, delicate.

"I'm sorry…" Mysterion says, "I'll try and stop. I'm sorry. I'll try." She thinks about how Kenny's arms felt around her when she was scared, and how Kevin's felt the same, scared, and desperate, and filled with a terrified kind of love she knows other people don't have. People who were brought up better than them.

She thinks about the colour orange and the smell of cigarettes and cat piss and blood and how despite everything, that scent screams home and safety.

She knows those are bad thoughts, though, because Doctor Tucker told her so. She tries to think about reality, about Kevin's broken sobbing and the mud under her boots and the thick cowl chafing her neck but none of that feels more real than the words "_Don't try, Karen. Do._" echoing in her mind, spoken by someone who she knows, _knows_ can't exist, knows just like the way she knows every memory of dying she's had over the last ten years is fake, fabricated, a defense mechanism.

_Don't try, Karen. Do._

She crushes her face into Kevin's shoulder, "I _will_ stop. I promise. I promise."


End file.
